


Draw Your Swords

by drippingwithsin



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingwithsin/pseuds/drippingwithsin
Summary: An evening at Joan's turns out not quite like Vera expects it.





	Draw Your Swords

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Classically_Malicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Classically_Malicious/gifts).



> For Classically_ Malicious who gave this prompt(sword and table) ages ago. Sorry so late, but it gave me a devil of a time. Wasn't sure how to go about it so I went all 'Bodyguard'. Not with a table, but a I hope a desk works.
> 
> Anyways prompts are welcome and not all have to be FreakyTits. I'm flexible. ;)

  _So come on Love, draw your swords_  
_Shoot me to the ground_  
_You are mine, I am yours_  
_Lets not fuck around_  
                                                                                      _-Draw your Swords by Angus & Julia Stone   
_

* * *

Vera put her car into park and inhales a much needed breath. Well, here she is. Alice blues stare through a messily created portal of cleared condensation, Vera’s heart excites. Captured in the eerie luminance of the waning hours the door to Joan’s flat seemingly looms in the distance, reminding her strangely of the gloomy entrance to the castle in Beauty and the Beast. She shivers with dreaded anticipation.

  
_Lord help her_  
  
  
A collecting pause. 

  
Oh for fuck's sake Vera Bennett you're being ridiculous. You've been here before so fucking act like it.

  
The mini pep talk serves to help her for all of seven seconds. She takes in another deep steeling breath of air and climbs out of the car.  
  
  
Once at the threshold, she knocks stiffly while nervously fidgeting. The door swings open a moment later revealing the woman of both her nightmares and dreams, wearing a pair of jeans and a v-neck maroon blouse.

  
"Oh Vera, you've made it." Joan greets her with a genial smile.

  
“Hello, Joan. Sorry, I’m late.”  
  
  
By a minute and a half, still, Vera feels the need to rectify.

  
“It’s quite alright.” Joan dismisses, ushering her inside and politely taking her coat.

  
Vera inwardly relaxes. Perhaps this evening wasn’t going to be all that horrible after all. She trails behind the older woman into her immaculate home, short legs as always working overtime to catch up.

  
As it turns out her prediction is eerily correct.

  
Sitting on opposite ends of a tiny dining room table, the two of them merrily chat about this and that over an expensive bottle of wine and two slabs of steaks. And most surprisingly of all is that the topic of Wentworth barely comes up. Vera smiles. This was nice.

  
“So now I’m thinking of getting a kitten.” She announces after telling Joan about the time she accidentally kept her neighbor's cat for a week.

  
“Oh?” A dark brow lifts. “And why not a goldfish?”

  
The question is tinged with a hint of playful amusement.  

  
Vera snorts into her wineglass, rolling her eyes. “You can’t cuddle a goldfish, Joan.”

  
“Well, why would anybody want to cuddle a mangy-”

  
A standardized ringtone breaks their conversion mid-sentence.

  
An apologetic glance is given to Vera. Slightly irritated Joan snatches the wailing cell phone, lids narrowing pensively at the screen. “Can you excuse me for just a moment? I need to take this.”

  
Vera nods.“Go right ahead, I needed to use the restroom anyways.”

  
“Down the hall, to your left.” Joan absentmindedly directs, already getting up to head into the other room while bringing the phone to her ear, Vera can her a faint. “ _Hello_ ,”

  
She flicks on the light switch illuminating the new area to ever eager eyes. God, Vera squints. White everything is white and clean so damn clean. How on earth does one keep a bathroom this spotless? The answer is freely given when a tidal wave of harsh chemicals shear through the walls of her nostrils, and sting harshly at her Alice blues causing them to water in a vain attempt to sooth their recetas.

  
Oh dear God. It was like snorting an entire bottle of bleach in here.

  
Vera quickly does her business before she passes out from the fumes and begins to make her way back, but something catches her eye. A warm glow emanates from a cracked wooden door a few steps from the entryway. How hadn't she seen that before? Vera eases up to it.    

  
Curiosity killed the cat.

  
Ah, but satisfaction brought it back.

  
Vera nibbles on her lip, contemplating. Should she? Could she? One quick look wouldn’t hurt yet if Joan catches her. A tingling wave of fear skitters down her spine. Her eyes dart to and fro. Torn.

  
One peek. That’s it. She’ll be quick about it.

  
Vera pushes the door open, warily tip-toeing inside. Her breath bated and eyes wide, she drinks in the area hungrily and is surprised at what she finds. It’s an office.

 _  
Joan’s office_.

  
Vera swallows yet somehow remains rooted.

  
Instead of the modern sterile environment common to that of the entire house this room, however, was more like an old fashion English study; everything antique furniture, ancient literature and distressed leather. The office itself is furnished with comfort in mind; it is, after all, Joan's personal retreat though truth be told Vera never suspected it to quite be like this.

  
The desk, enormous in size, sits against the far right wall, carved of thick mahogany, lacquered and neatly covered in office supplies. It’s the grand centerpiece of the room though not entirely unlike the one in Joan’s office at work- minus the ‘clutter’ of course.

  
Adjacent to the desk and illuminating the entire room, a smallish flat screen television dances with life. Hung high on the wall; it was blank of any news station or show, but what it did contain made a sable eyebrow lift.

  
The animated image of a fire flickers lazily, eating away at a glowing log and the screen.

  
Leave it to Joan Ferguson to find a way to have a clean ‘fireplace’. Vera snorts and moves her gaze to the far wall containing only one item.  
  
  
In the centre, resting on a display rack, a sword stands out valiantly against the darkness. The slim lengthy blade hidden away in a polished onyx sheath swoops dramatically upward in the middle reminaste of the ones samurais welded in battle. It even had the slender sable and cream clothed handle.

  
It truly was a work of art.

  
Wanting a closer look, Vera saunters over to it and stares, nibbling on an already abused bottom lip. The shine of the sheath glimmers back as if beckoning her to come closer and like Aurora to the spinning wheel she was helpless against its call.

  
As if in slow motion Vera reaches to touch, fingers outstretched, eyes fixed glazed with fascination.

  
Closer,

  
And closer….

   
"Careful,"  

  
Vera startles, arm jerking back just as her head snaps around. Heat creeps up the back of her neck when a familiar silhouette looming in the entryway, guile eyes burning like coals.    

  
"It's an antique," Joan elaborates, scarlet lips curled ever so slightly.

  
"Oh, Joan, I-" Vera scrambles to apologize.

  
"It's quite alright." The Governor dismisses, already beginning to stalk over. A lioness in human skin, the nearer she approaches the faster the mouse’s heart beats.

  
She comes to a stand right beside Vera and gives her a benevolent smile.

  
“Don’t fret, my dear. I can see why you were so drawn to it. The beauty and sheer deadliness of the katana has captured the attention and admiration of many throughout the years.” Joan whispers, tone and expression wistful, she stares into the inky depths of the sheath.

  
“It was said that a great emperor was distraught about his warriors returning from war with damaged or broken swords. This forced Amakuni to make a perfect sword that would win the Emperor’s heart and ensure that the warriors won the battles. Amakuni and his son sought intervention from the Shinto gods who inspired the smiths to create a single-edged slightly curved sword.”

  
Joan pauses, glancing over at Vera’s expression to no doubt see if she was paying attention. Vera blinks back, attention captivated by the low mesmerizing tone of her voice.

  
The story continues vehemently.

  
“When the warriors went to their next battle with these new and innovative blades, they won it without a single blade being damaged. As a result, Amakuni won the Emperor’s favor and became known as the father of the Samurai sword.”

With all the care of a new mother handling a baby, she lifts the sword from its resting place. “To hold such a weapon used to be a privilege--an honor.”

  
In one swift smooth move, Joan unsheathes the blade with a harsh metallic swish. She brings it to the light smiling, the metal glints back fondly.

  
Old friends meeting one another in passing, having a chat. Vera feels strangely like the third wheel.

  
Joan finally glances away from the blade to Vera, a sly twinkle in her eye. “Would you like to hold it?”

  
“Oh, I--” Vera glances from her boss to the sword then back again. She eyes it with suspicious uncertainty.

  
“Oh, now no need to be _shy_.” A smoky voice all but coos and bronze cheeks flush pink.

  
“I uh,”

  
Joan holds out the sword to her, expression now challenging. “Here,”

  
There’s a pause. A hesitation. And all Vera wants to do is sink into the floor.

  
“Go on then, take it.” Impatience colors the silken voice.

  
Timid as a mouse stealing grain from a farmer. Vera reaches out with trembling hands and takes it.

  
Joan visibly relaxes clearly pleased as punch by the show of obedience. She circles around the deputy. A predator sizing up its prey. When will it pounce? Is always the last question. 

  
What is she-

  
Vera’s breathing hitches when the large woman presses into her back. Scolding hot, curvy and solid, she can almost feel the strength radiating from Joan.

  
She corrects Vera's stance by pushing her own lithe legs against much shorter. Vera whimpers. The feel of firm thighs and breasts at her back, making her belly do funny things. 

  
Slightly calloused hands ghost from her forearms to her wrists, leaving a trail of goosepimples in their wake. They grasp them with gentle firmness. “Keep your grip steady.”  
  
  
Vera obeys, tightening her fingers around the hilt.

  
“Good girl.”  
  
  
She shudders when hot moisture bathes her ear and lower cheek.  
  
  
“Now, let’s begin.” Joan precedes to guide her into a slow motion sword fight. Back and forth. The sword sways like a reared cobra in Vera’s hand. Hypnotising and deadly. It's truly not unlike its mistress. 

  
“That’s it.” Joan removes her hands and places them on her waist, keeping her grounded. “Now faster.”

  
Vera obeys immediately, her mind and body puppeteered by the woman behind her.  

  
Time passes, the movements become faster and faster until Vera appears as if she’s fighting an invisible opponent. In consequence, she becomes more cocky, showier. She speeds up on her own. Wildly swinging and thrusting the weapon with gleeful exertion.

  
What happens next is inevitable(shamefully embarrassing). The hilt shifts precariously awkward between loosened fingers, nearly slipping from their grasp. Vera jolts, fumbling for purchase, she miraculously steadies it without severing a finger. Or worse a hand.

  
Everything freezes. Time slows. Vera holds her breath.  

  
There’s a pause.

  
A tisk pierces Vera’s ear and bolts to her gut where it settles like a stone. Fuck. In all honesty, she's surprised she lasted this long under the circumstances still--to disappoint this woman is a crushing blow.

  
"Swords like any other weapon demand _respect_ ," Joan advises tone soft yet serious. Her large hands slip lower to grasp ahold of Vera’s hips.  

 _  
“Patience,”_ Is hissed, the grip holding her tightens just a bit.

  
“And if you don’t show them any,” Joan lets go of Vera and circles around until her torso is just hair's length away from the tip. Her obsidian eyes a flame and lips quirked into a Hannibalistic smile.

  
“They’ll just _take_ it.”

  
She leans her broad torso over the blade with deadly hands outstretched, aiming for a slender throat.

  
Cold fear waves over Vera, her breath hitches and eyes close tightly. Waiting. This is it. This is how she was going to die.

  
At the hands of Lilith, Eve is destined to fall.

  
A gentle tug followed by the tickle of fabric against skin and wave of cool air hits her neck. What the fucking hell? Vera’s eyes slam open, she finds the answer ironically in the grasp of her would be assassin.

  
Tastefully animal printed, sheer and straining against Joan’s hands, Vera’s scarf seems to scream for aid as it dangles helplessly above the sword.

  
Puzzled, the slight woman glances up to the only person in the room that has all the answers. Joan merely stares back, eyes beguiling and that damn smirk in place.

  
“Wha-”  

  
Joan let's go.

  
The scarf flutters down in a whisper of silk, yet instead of falling limply around the blade, its fabric shreds instantly. Two halves float simultaneously to the floor in silent agony, the scarf no more than a memory.

  
Taken off guard by the action and realization of just how dangerous the weapon in her hands truly was, Vera gasps dropping the sword as if the handle just spontaneously combusted, wincing when it hits the floor with thud and clash.

  
“Oh Joan, I’m sorry I-” Lips crash into her own, hungrily moving with skill.  


At first, Vera resists her pink lips frozen, but with time they begin to follow the other woman's movements a bit timidly. The Governor smirks into the kiss and deepens it, her tongue caressing Vera's in a sensual oral dance that leaves them burning with desire.

   
Joan leads them backwards, tiny feet scrambling to dance away from larger ones. They move step for step in a clumsy waltz until Vera finally feels her lower back hit something hard.  

  
Sure steady hands slide down from Vera’s hips over her behind to cup slender thighs, hoisting the petite woman onto the desk with ease.

  
Joan steps in between Vera’s thighs and presses her hip bone hard against the woman's core, smirking when a groan reverberates around the room.  
  
  
"Such a wanton little thing, you are." Nimble fingers smoothly undo the buttons on Vera’s blouse, pushes it open, and reveals the lacy royal bra underneath.  
  
  
“Joan-” Vera gasps when fiendish lips find her neck; nipping and sucking with deadly accuracy.  
  
  
Slender fingers splay themselves across Vera's ribs, ghosting along the ridges, and she gasps when they hit a particular sensitive spot just above her waistline.

  
Joan chuckles against her skin before kissing a scorching path down Vera’s cleavage, delighting when the woman pushes her chest out.

  
In one quick move, she devastates the bra, crudely exposing two small full round breasts to her hungry gaze, and surges forward fastening her lips around one of the beckoning pink nipples.

  
Vera groans, sliding her fingers into silken nocturnal locks, she presses that wonderful mouth closer.

  
Joan torments Vera’s breasts with teeth and tongue, feasting to her satisfaction all the while applying just enough pressure with her hip to bring a maddening pleasurable sensation, but not enough to cause a climax.

  
“Oh God, Joan. Please.” The deputy begs on proverbial bended knee.

  
Joan pulls away and looms over her, dark eyes smoldering in the dim lighting. “Don’t move.”

  
Vera whimpers, and white-knuckles the edge of the desk in fevered anticipation.

  
Scarlet lips slowly curling into a devilish smile. Joan flirts with her waistline for a bit before popping the button on Vera’s fly. She tugs her jeans and underwear down to her hips, allowing her hands unimpeded access.

  
An appreciative hum. “So wet for me.”

  
Joan sensually glides upward, over silken thighs, to the deliciously hot pink flesh begging for her attention. 

  
Vera gasps and can’t help but to grind against the intruding fingers. The friction sends electrical currents shooting through her body. Rocking back and forth, she whimpers pathetically.

  
“Please,”

  
Joan ignores the plea, continuing to tease her mercilessly. She speaks softly.“My fingers like swords can be wielded with--deadly skill.”

  
Her fingers run passed Vera’s outer slit and glide tortuously along a throbbing clit, she circles it tightly but never lingers.

  
“My body always in perfect synchronization with both my weapon and opponent--”

  
She moves down towards Vera’s entrance, playfully dipping the tip of her index finger inside. Silken walls clamp down greedily, trying to suck her in fully, yet she doesn't allow it.

  
Vera arches her back moaning. Pleading.

  
“The way I thrust, with controlled accuracy-” Without preamble, Joan slams two inside and begins to pump vigorously, pounding into the other woman with such force the desk moves slightly. She watches with the keenness of a starved predator as full round breasts bounce with every thrust.   
  
  
Vera pants, bucking against the pressure, she wraps her legs tightly around Joan’s waist pulling her if possible even closer. Their bodies synchronize, the one standing upon the hardwood floor keeps a frantic pace whilst the other rocks upon the laminated desktop moving her hips in a swirling motion to ensure maximum pleasure.

_For this was their dance and they danced it well._

  
“Brings my challengers to their knees.” Leaning back, Joan reaches downward grips a slim leg and places it upon her shoulder. Opening everything up fully. The woman underneath her nearly howls at this new angle. Oh, God. This was too much. This was- the width of the fingers is joined by another causing a delicious burn that's borderline painful.  
  


This time Vera really does howl. "Oh fuck!"

  
Stormy eyes squeeze tightly shut, and shapely hips move restlessly, lifting to meet Joan’s unwavering thrusts.

  
A malevolent chuckle. The voice begins anew.  


“No mercy is shown--” Fingers with palm curl just so, hitting Vera’s pulsating clit and the hidden rough patch inside simultaneously sending stars beneath her eyelids.  
  
  
"For with my blooded companion at my side I am--"  


Vera feels her climax steadily rising within both her depths. Just out of reach but oh so close she could practically taste la petite mort’s sweet relief upon her tongue.  

   
“Victorious!”  


Joan leans down in one swift move, sinking her teeth into the sinew of Vera's neck and roughly pinches her clit, sending her tumbling head first into the abyss.  
  
  
Throwing her head back, Vera’s mouth falls open in rapture. A deep throb reverberates within her belly, her core tightens, spasming around the older woman's fingers milking them like a cock with every rhythmic clinch.

  
Pure Nirvana.

  
Never before had Vera cum like this. Not by her hands and certainly not with Fletcher. It felt as if her entire body was being dipped in a vat of champagne. Tingling bubbles tickle her from the inside out. Intoxicating her to the point of blissful inebriation. As if miles away she feels the slight burn of fingers being removed and her leg being lowered.

  
Vera opens her eyes only to find dark ones a breath's way away from her own. "Joan?"

  
The older woman is resting her forehead against her own equally sweaty one. It's an intimate moment, one Vera stashes away for later. Joan blinks and steps back.

  
“Come, my dear.” Strong arms help Vera down onto two unsteady legs. “I have another sword in my bedroom I wish to show you.”

  
The statement is laced with mischief as is the smile that follows. 


End file.
